


Wellness

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ficlet, Gen, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 20:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16604675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis is under the weather.





	Wellness

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Something happens to Ignis (he gets really sick, breaks a bone, overworks himself, debilitating hangover, whatever) and he as much as he tries to, he can't really perform his duties. Noct finds out when Ignis gets someone to fill in for him, skips his lessons/etc., and goes over to Ignis's place to take care of him. + gen or pre-slash, please + Ignis is super embarrassed his charge is the one taking care of him + surprise surprise, Noct actually likes taking care of someone else ++++ Noct citing Royal Decree to order Ignis to stay put, don't move, he'll make lunch if even it kills him” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5690.html?thread=11139898#cmt11139898).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The line clicks on the third ring, and to Ignis’ immense relief, Gladiolus answers: _“Hello?”_

“I need you to come pick me up and take me to your place,” Ignis instantly blurts, which isn’t at all how he’d normally start the conversation, but his mind’s currently too foggy for proper introductions. His head is simultaneously slow and pounding. There’s a pause on the other end. 

_“Where are you?”_

Ignis _almost_ says ‘Noctis’’, then corrects himself just in time. “Home.”

_“Why would you need to leave your apartment?”_

As the truth is far too embarrassing to delve into, Ignis searches for an excuse, but then a cough wracks his body, and he figures he might as well admit part of it. “I’m not feeling well.”

Instantly sounding worried, Gladiolus asks, _“Are you okay?”_

“I’m alright. It’s just stress symptoms at this point...” Even then, he doesn’t like admitting that—he knows everyone thinks he works too hard, and he’d like to adamantly ignore that and keep right on working, but he gets dizzy just standing up and his headache’s killing him. He’s had it before, once or twice, back when his own university studies were in the mix of Crown and Citadel work, but apparently a full work week with only the odd two hours of sleep here and there have finally taken their toll. He tries to at least reassure his friend, “I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Unfortunately, Gladiolus seems doubtful. _“How is coming over to my place going to help...? I can go over there, if you want...”_

That’s the last thing Ignis needs. Then they might as well call Prompto over to dote on him too and have a full house. He struggles in trying to explain, because he knows Gladiolus is just going to laugh at him, but he feels genuinely, truly ashamed of himself for being a burden on the one person—

There’s a quiet knock on his bedroom door, followed by his prince’s voice calling, “I’m coming in.”

Ignis doesn’t have time to protest. The door cricks open, Noctis backing into it, a serving tray in his arms. The hall light slices harshly into the relative darkness, though the lamp on Ignis’ desk is still on—he didn’t want to actually fall asleep whilst his charge was over. Noctis carries the tray towards him, face screwed up in concentration, like he knows how unpracticed he is at serving people and is expecting to trip and spill everything any second. But he reaches the bed successfully and carefully sets the tray on Ignis’ lap. There’s a big ceramic bowl of soup in the center, a spoon placed next to it. Noctis glances at the nightstand, and Ignis knows he’s checking the glass of water he’s been steadily providing Ignis with all afternoon. 

Then Noctis spots the phone and frowns. “Who’re you calling? You’re not supposed to be doing work.”

“Noct,” Ignis gently starts, only to break out in another cough that makes the tray rattle over his knees. Noctis’ features instantly harden over.

“You’re sick, Ignis. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have tried to send a sub over to my place, as though I’m going to listen to somebody else tell me how to do homework.”

Ignis’ chest tightens—he still feels guilty about that. But he knew he was in no condition to drive and couldn’t make his appointment. In a strange role reversal, he meekly protests, “It’s not work...”

“Then who is it?”

Ignis thinks of quickly hanging up, but then Gladiolus would just call back. Gladiolus chooses then to ask, _“Iggy?”_ Noctis’ brows draw up in confusion, indicating he heard.

Before Ignis’ dulled reflexes can react, Noctis snatches the phone out of his grip. He tells Gladiolus, “It’s fine; I’m taking care of him.” Then he hangs up. The phone doesn’t ring from a call back. Noctis pockets it, which distinctly reminds Ignis of Noctis’ teenage years, where Ignis would occasionally confiscate his phone after finding out he and Prompto had wasted half the evening playing King’s Knight instead of working. 

Looking Ignis dead in the eyes, Noctis asks, “Why did you call him?”

Ignis bites his bottom lip. He suddenly feels very _small_ , which is ridiculous, because he’s significantly taller than Noctis. Which doesn’t matter so much when he’s propped up in bed. When Noctis’ relentless stare doesn’t let up, Ignis eventually admits, “I... you shouldn’t be taking care of me, Noct.” His voice is coming out even smaller. “You’re my charge; I’m meant to look after _you_...”

Noctis’ face softens. But he doesn’t give the phone back or leave. “Iggy, you’ve done that for almost my whole life. And I’ve hardly done anything.”

“But you have. You called the Citadel for me to explain my absence. You took my temperature and called your physician, you even helped me into bed. You’ve been keeping tabs on me, and kept me hydrated, and now you’ve brought me soup...”

“It’s probably terrible,” Noctis interrupts. “And you’ve done that stuff for me...”

“That’s different.”

Noctis gives him a funny look, then glances away, shrugging awkwardly. Ignis can tell he’s made Noctis embarrassed too; the blush is evident even in the poor lighting and with Ignis’ glasses off. Noctis takes a moment before mumbling, “Look, I... kinda like taking care of you for a change, okay? You deserve it. Just... let me help.” It’s said in such a small, tender way that Ignis’ stomach does a summersault. Even when Noctis is at his most insufferable, bratty and spoiled and often lazy, moments like this, so genuine and wonderful, are what keep Ignis loving him. The memory of childhood, of King Regis introducing them like _brothers_ , has never fully faded from Ignis’ mind. 

It’s not fair. All of his defenses are down and he’s too weak to put them up again. He tries to dispel that heaviness and shakes his head, muttering, “I’ve been in bed long enough. I should get up and do the dishes—”

“I’ve already done them,” Noctis says. 

Ignis pauses. “Then... I’ll find something...”

“Not before I do,” Noctis counters. 

“Noct...”

“ _Ignis_. You’ve done enough. I’m the crown prince and I’ll do whoever’s dishes I want. I’m _ordering_ you not to even think about it. By royal decree, you’re staying in bed and resting until I’m satisfied you’re okay. Got it?”

As harsh as Noctis’ tone is, Ignis can’t stop the warm smile that tugs at his lips. Noctis is blushing furiously. For some reason, Ignis feels distinctly _proud_ of him.

Ignis murmurs, “Got it, Your Highness.”

Noctis nods. “Good. Now... eat your soup, or something. ...And don’t try to replace me with Gladio again. I don’t care if I’m the prince; you were my friend first.” Ignis almost laughs at that, but his throat doesn’t feel up to it. With another curt nod, Noctis excuses himself. It’s probably for the best. It doesn’t feel like either of them could’ve taken much more embarrassment.

Once the door’s closed, Ignis tries the soup. It’s lukewarm—Noctis probably did do the dishes first and only then remembered to serve it. The broth is a relatively simple one, though Ignis feels like he can taste the cheap flavouring of a cup noodles packet in there somewhere. But it’s not terrible. It was made with love, so it tastes better for it.

Ignis slowly eats it, loving every spoonful.


End file.
